


West Country Whipping Knot

by LuxEvergreen



Series: To Tie A Knot [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Text Flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 05:55:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6599347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxEvergreen/pseuds/LuxEvergreen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After three costume designers unexpectedly quit a popular TV series, Brienne Tarth has been promoted<br/>as a personal costume designer for the lead actor, Jaime Lannister.</p><p>Personalities clash; flirting commences; tempers flare.<br/>If love and hate are two sides of the same string, then the inevitable tangle of knots is bound to show up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. West Country Whipping Knot:

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ikkiM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikkiM/gifts).



> Happy Tuesday!
> 
> This story will be a part of another vignette series I've created; this installment has two chapters in it. At this point, I only foresee three, maybe four vignettes total for the Knot series. Updates will be sporadic, at best.
> 
> This was a fun challenge for me; a modern/alternate universe setting was something I'd never dreamed about writing before, but dearest ikkiM, my patron saint of the J/B fandom, is a divine muse to say the least! : )
> 
>  
> 
> I sincerely hope you enjoy reading.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When you think you have reached the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on."  
> -Misattributed to several US presidents. (shrug)

West Country Whipping Knot:

“Some ropework devotees consider this whipping to be a botched job, assuming that whoever ties it knows no neater alternative. The fact is that it stays put when the quicker, but less secure, so-called sailor’s method comes loose and falls off.”

_-The Illustrated Encyclopedia of Knots_ by Geoffrey Budworth

 

 

“Please.”

“ _No_.”

“Pleeeeassseee?”

“Nah-uh.”

“ _Pleasepleasepleaseplease?_ ”

“Nooooope.”

“Come on Brienne, for me?”

“Why can’t Loras do it?”

Renly’s pleading face turned to stone once his eyes settled on his husband. With an uncomfortable screw of the lips, Renly looked away while Loras blew out a cloud of smoke; once the grey cloud dissipated he looked up at his husband and spoke with a sarcastic wonder to his deadpan voice.  “Yeah Renly? Why not?”

The sharp glance between the two made Brienne want to smirk but she thought better of it. The last thing she wanted, other than being in charge of the lead actor’s wardrobe, was to get mixed up in a fight between a married couple. With an impatient sigh, Renly pulled off his baseball cap under the hot sun and scratched his sweating forehead with a tight, phony smile. “You know _why_ , Loras.”

Loras sniffed his nose and answered in a sullen, halfhearted surrender. “Whatever.” Handing the cigarette over to Brienne, she took a quick drag and glanced over at Loras with dubious eyes. “Was the test run _that_ bad?” Neither Loras nor his husband would answer her; obviously, the test run had gone pretty badly.

All three were seated together on the smoking patio next to the executive office of Westerland Coastal Studios. Together, they worked on an acclaimed television series called _Broken Mirror,_ a sci-fi drama set in a future where parallel dimensions have been newly discovered. The lead actor, a whistleblowing scientist on the run from the government, vaults his way through countless multidimensions in order to prevent a nuclear war from starting.

Everyone was surprised by the phenomenal success of the show, which made it strange that over the course of its four year run, three costume designers walked off the series unexpectedly. Frustrated by the excessive turnover rate, executive producer Renly Baratheon decided to promote his husband, Loras Tyrell-Baratheon, to be in charge of the costume department.

No one wanted to work with the lead actor; no sane person would ever want to work with the lead actor; there was a good reason why his reputation preceded him. Cursing under her breath, Brienne exhaled while cautiously handing the cigarette back over to Loras; they’d often share a smoke together at the end of their lunch break.

Renly looked desperate. Feeling that it would be useless to fight it, Brienne finally acquiesced and said ‘yes’ to her boss in a dull, monotone voice. Renly sighed in relief while Loras stubbed out their shared cigarette with a billowy exhale. Trying to ease his embarrassment, Brienne gave Loras a light touch and smoothed her hand over his forearm while mumbling out a sympathetic ‘later’ to him.  

With a flood of relief coursing through his veins, the executive producer escorted his costume assistant to the wardrobe studio in haste. Grateful to be indoors and out of the hot sun, the two peeled off their sunglasses while a blast of cold air washed over their tacky skin. Cursing the summertime humidity of the Westerlands, Brienne glanced over at Renly with a puzzled look on her face.   

“Thanks for doing this on such short notice. Feels like we’re having to hire a new costume designer _every season_ now. As you know, we had a test run with Loras this morning; he swore that he wouldn’t gush over our leading man; obviously, it didn’t turn out that way.”

Dodging past interns who struggled to walk a Z-Rack filled with costumes, Brienne glanced over at Renly in mild concern. “What happened?” Running his fingers over his neatly trimmed beard—a nervous habit of his—the handsome director-writer-executive producer winced as he led Brienne through a private hallway after he scanned his ID card.  

“I introduced the two this morning; the talent was fine, Loras _seemed_ fine. When it finally came time for measurements however, Loras’ hands started to shake…” Renly grumbled to himself. “Long story short? He lost it: he had this derpy grin on his face the whole time; kept smiling like a jackass.  And when it finally came time for Loras to measure his inseam... _welllll_.  Loras kinda-sorta managed to spill a cup of coffee on the talent’s thigh.”

Brienne’s eyes shot wide open in horror as they stood in front of the doors to the private fitting room. “Is he going to have Loras fired?” Renly shook his head ‘no’ with an embarrassed look on his face.  “Thank the gods, no.  But that’s not the point. I can’t trust my husband like I thought I could; I know I can trust you Brienne.”  Brienne paused Renly before he could open the door to the private fitting room.

“Wait—Loras is the new costume designer for the show—I’m just his associate.” Shaking his head ‘no’, Renly placed a firm hand on Brienne’s arm with steely eyes and finally leveled with her. “And Loras will stay on, as the costume designer for _the cast_. I’m promoting you with a special title.” With that, Renly Baratheon swung open the private fitting room doors and allowed Brienne entry into the well-lit room.

“Brienne, I’d like to introduce you to your new charge, Jaime Lannister. Jaime? Meet your personal costume designer, Brienne Tarth.”     

Clutching an ice pack over his inner thigh, Jaime Lannister stood up with a painful wince and offered his hand to the strange woman approaching him. With blonde hair pulled back into a sloppy ponytail, he was quick to note that she wore only mascara and tinted lip balm as her only makeup.  With a brief flinch of his eyes, the handsome actor couldn’t help but notice a long, craggy scar on her right cheek once she stood under the glare of the fluorescent lights.

Ignoring the disfiguring mark on her face, Jaime felt amused by his wardrobe director’s appearances. She was dressed like a college student, wearing an oversized t-shirt, ratty jeans and a old pair of dun running sneakers. In spite of her rather homely appearance, Jaime couldn’t help but notice that although her looks were an acquired taste, her long legs were a magnificent creation that seemed to defy logic and sanity. The lead actor, wearing a designer polo and raw denim jeans—along with a sizeable coffee stain on his thigh—received the young woman with a slow grin, shaking her hand with narrowed eyes and a silent dare on his lips.

Offering him only a cool nod of professionalism, Brienne lowered her eyes towards the floor, dreading the idea of having to spend so much time with a sleazy, despicable actor. Sensing her unease, Jaime squeezed her hand tighter until she finally lifted her blue eyes up at him. He was suddenly taken aback by how pretty they were.

Something akin to mirth sparked back to life once he made eye contact with that beautiful gaze.  Jaime felt like laughing.

_This one’s going to be fun to play with..._

 

\-------------------

One month later:

  
“ _Soooooooooooo…_ ”

“ _Yesssssss_?”

Loras handed Brienne the cigarette with a touch of reverence in his hand; she knew what he was about to do; he was going to ask her about Jaime Lannister. Again.

Seated together on a wooden bench, Brienne swished the melty contents of her ice coffee while glancing over at Loras with a wry look of amusement. Off to her right, Renly was scribbling up notes on a scene he was preparing to shoot for the next day. Holding up her fingers, Loras handed off the smoke to Brienne with an innocent smile.

“What does Jaime Lannister smell like?”

Brienne flicked ash until the cherry flamed bright red. _He smells_ _like the sweet breeze of a forest after a rainstorm._

Renly snorted in disgust at Loras’ question. “He smells like hot garbage and burnt hair.”

Loras snickered at Renly’s jealous reply; Brienne only smiled out of politeness to her boss. Pleased to annoy his husband so, Brienne’s smoking companion reclaimed the cigarette from her hands while grinning. “I bet he smells like the perfect blend of crisp glacial water and freshly shaved wood chips.”

Renly kept his eyes locked onto his notebook while he spoke again in a droll tone. “You’ve effectively described the contents of a gerbil cage. If that was your intention, then yes; we can all agree on what Jaime Lannister smells like.” Brienne squirmed on the bench; she decided to ignore the couple’s boisterous laughter. Knocking his shoulder into Brienne’s, Loras returned the cigarette to her hands with a careful study of her long fingers; he couldn’t help but noticed that she was starting to polish her nails as of late.

“Is Jaime Lannister as bad as everyone says?”

Brienne tried to ignore the racing patter of her heart.  Feigning indifference, she shrugged with one shoulder while trying to sound nonchalant. “Is he bad? _Nah._ I just smack him on the nose with a rolled up newspaper whenever he pees on the carpet. Sometimes I have to spray him with a squirt bottle whenever I catch him humping the furniture.” Brienne let out a long, smoky exhale while Loras and his mate began to snicker. “He’s certainly not the first man to give me a hard time, but he's got nothing I can’t handle.”

Over her shoulder, Brienne could hear Renly muttering to himself underneath a stifled laugh. “ _That’s what_ she _said.”_  

Loras shook his head in amusement. “You know, the more I hear about Lannister around the set, the more I'm relieved I don't have to work with him.” Renly interrupted his husband’s confession with a sigh of relief; quickly validated Loras’ conclusion, Renly spoke up in a low, conspiratorial voice. “Jaime Lannister is notorious for being difficult. Ever since he starred in _that_ film.”

All three turned silent; they were all reluctant to talk about the infamous film Jaime Lannister once starred in. It was an indie, art house slasher flick called _Pyro’s Mayhem: Revenge of the Demented._ Though it was never discussed publicly, many in the industry quietly assumed that Jaime’s portrayal of the villain was a slanderous depiction of the WCS president, Aerys Targaryen.

Aerys—also nicknamed by many as ‘the Mad King’—was a troubled man who began to display signs of a severe mental illness during the height of his executive power. Gradually, the Mad King started to turn into an obsessive compulsive germaphobe who grew increasingly paranoid and would often break out into violent outbursts whenever someone disagreed with him. It was also rumored by his private wait staff that Aery’s would frequently rape and beat his own wife without provocation or warning.

To everyone's horror, Aerys also started to display pyromaniac tendencies as well; his office would often reek of acrid smoke and charred meat. Small, unexplained fires became a frequent occurrence on sets; charred remains of unidentifiable animals were often found on the studio grounds by members of security. There were even rumors from one of his chauffeurs that Aery’s liked to bring home prostitutes and use them for torture; it was said that he’d like to burn their flesh clean off their bones while they were still alive. It was also said by nervous directors that Aery’s would become aroused by watching women scream or be tortured during his viewing of the dailies.

Shortly after _Pyro’s Mayhem_ was released, the police started to investigate the network president with a keen interest. Days after the film’s release, Aerys Targaryen was mysteriously found dead of a drug overdose in his office. The coroner ruled his death as a suicide but many in the industry believed that he was actually murdered.

While plucking the cigarette from Loras’ fingers, Brienne took her turn to smoke while she thought on Jaime’s notorious reputation. It was true; he was difficult to work with: Jaime was immature, haughty, obnoxious and smug; he was frequently late to appointments and he enjoyed irritating Brienne with his non-stop blathering as well. But if she was honest with herself, Brienne knew that there was more to the total sum of Jaime Lannister.

Day by day, Brienne got to see a different side of her famous charge. She observed how polite and generous he was to his fans—he was always friendly and playful with children who wanted photos of him. He was also a voracious reader too; a well-studied man who was passionate about the history of acting and his talent was certainly acclaimed for by its own merit.

Feeling a rush of nicotine surge through her, Brienne handed the cigarette back to Loras while chewing on her lower lip, lost deep in thought; suddenly, she looked down at her phone to check the time.

“Shit. I’m running late.”

Brienne departed from the smoking area after a she gave a brief ‘farewell’ to her friends; Renly watched his old friend sink into the shadows of the building and winced. He felt sorry to have someone as gentle and kind as Brienne to put up with someone as wretched and despicable as Jaime Lannister.

 

\--------------------

 

Jaime never gave any thought as to why he enjoyed teasing Brienne so much; _he just did._

When they first met, she reminded him of one of those Hitchcock blondes he used to fixate on as a child. Between her professional demeanor, her cool voice and her aloof manners, her conduct was chilly at best and downright glacial at its worst. But no matter how aloof she may have seemed, Jaime couldn’t help but notice a cold fire smoldering behind her icy blue eyes. He likened her to a peaceful, snow covered mountain that was really a volcano on the brink of an eruption.  

During their first week together, he made a sincere effort to try and get to know his new wardrobe director.  Although Brienne was painfully reserved, he decided to do most of the talking, peppering her with questions about herself in hopes that she would open up to him.  With little to no answers given to his non-stop inquiry, he started to talk about himself in hopes to break the ice somehow.

He talked about where he lived, where he grew up; he lamented on the traffic that seemed to be getting worse each year on the River Road Highway; how humid summers were in the Westerlands; all of the places he longed to travel during next year’s filming hiatus. The most he ever got from Brienne, other than frigid silence, was monosyllabic answers along with deep, impatient sighs.

Perturbed by her well-guarded manner, Jaime decided he was going to tease Brienne—only a little—just so he could get some kind of reaction out of her.

By week two, Jaime started to make cheap shots at himself in Brienne's presence. During one fitting, he tried to gauge her sense of humor; he told her he wanted to know her opinion on the ethics of a man who ‘dressed’ to the left versus a man who ‘dressed’ to the right. When that debate failed to inspire any meaningful discussion with her, Jaime started to tease her about how she needed to let out the inseam for his crotch on more than once occasion.

Jaime especially had fun one day when he had to be fitted for a speedo. All throughout the fitting, he loved to make vague, suggestive apologies to Brienne, often stressing to her about how cold the air in the fitting room was.  Down on her knees and facing him, making slight adjustments to the waistband of his revealing swimwear, Brienne hardly batted her lashes while stating quite plainly that the fitting room wasn’t cold at all.

By week three Jaime had grown quite tired of Brienne's stonewall tactics. Desperate for her attention, he was left with only the cheapest trick in his playbook; he started to insult her.  

Her silence made it too easy for him; Jaime made snarky comments to her about how dull she was, how simple, how boring. He mocked her slow blinking eyes; teased her for the way she’d nervously chew on her lower lip; attacked her for how long it’d take for her to answer his questions; always speculating on the depths of her intelligence, questioning her abilities to speak in a snarling, bitter voice.

His favorite insults were always about how tall she was; it was the only thing that he could say that guaranteed a reaction out of her. The first time he teased Brienne about her height—comparing her to a ‘lumbering freak of an oaf’—he briefly saw a flash of hurt dart across her pretty blue eyes. _Good_ , he’d think to himself every time he’d saw that painful expression on her face, _now we're even..._

Even with all of the sharp insults he lobbed at her about her looks, her height and her silence, Brienne started to build up new defenses around her heart, making Jaime's tired slams against her slowly become a hollow and meaningless chore for him.

By the fourth week Jaime was so completely fed up with Brienne, so he decided that he’d come up with a plan...

 

\--------------------

 

It was Tuesday. Brienne was learning to dread Tuesdays now; those were the days when the initial fittings for the next episode would start.

From the confines of a heavy twill garment bag, Brienne extracted one of three suits selected for Jaime that morning. Each week, the lead actor had to screen test his wardrobe under the punishing lights of the set before filming begun; if the pattern of the fabric looked too distracting on camera, if the costume had too much of a shine in the material or if the fitting was too loose, then the clothing would look terrible on film and it would have to be altered or replaced.

Taking her time to smooth her hands over Jaime’s first wardrobe selection, a handsome Brooks Brother’s suit in navy blue, Brienne admired the beautiful clothes under the lights with breathless admiration. Every stitch of the suit was handmade; the silk lining to his jacket was a custom order placed by Brienne; it was a bright orange lining that gave his wardrobe a playful splash of color, conveying a preppy look that was needed for the episode. For all of the hard work and fine attention to detail that went into such a beautiful suit, Brienne was perturbed to realize that such beauty would be lost entirely on someone so arrogant and spoiled as Jaime Lannister.

A soft purr of the electric steamer buzzed and bubbled to life; hot vapor saturated the clothes under Brienne’s critical eye while she touched the fabric with gentle hands and loving fingers. Just over her shoulder, a long clothing rack filled with costumes divided the dressing room almost by half. From the other side of the rack, Brienne could hear the faint ‘snick’ of the door latch open and close just as she was finishing up steaming the trousers.

“Hello?”

It was Jaime. He was late for his fitting. _Again_.

“Almost finished. Go ahead and get comfortable; I’m almost done steaming here.”

There was no reply from him. _Probably texting a shot of his junk to some brainless coed…_

With the last wrinkle steamed out, Brienne swept her fingers over the jacket while making her way around the clothes rack to greet Jaime. Instead, it was Jaime who greeted Brienne—in more ways than one. Standing in the center of the dressing room, under the bright lights and without a stitch of shame, Jaime Lannister stood completely naked with a nonchalant look on his face.

A funny sound filled the room; to his surprise, it sounded like a strange mix between a sharp gasp and a cat’s yowl. _Apparently the girl hasn’t been with a lot of men..._

Recoiling in embarrassment, Brienne held a hand over her eyes before she spun around behind the densely packed clothing rack. An exasperated growl from the back of her throat led her towards the linen closet. Jaime started to hear an affronted snarl rise in Brienne’s voice. “ _Actors…_ ”

Mildly pleased by her reaction, Jaime smiled brightly as he watched Brienne lumber behind the opaque clothing rack. With a soft ring of laughter, he raised his voice to the back of the room with a smug, self-praising grin.

“I’ll have you know, my lady, that I am not an _actor_.  I'm an _artist_. My body is a finely tuned instrument and I need to be in harmony with the cosmic symphony that surrounds us.”

Brienne buried her face deep into the linen closet while a hot blush flamed her cheeks.

“Uh-huh. Well, your _instrument_ is not going to _harmonize_ with any of my furniture without a towel under that ass.”

_That beautiful, heartbreaking ass..._

“Here.” Brienne chucked a fluffy white towel over her freckled shoulder towards Jaime’s side of the fitting room; seconds later, a warm, throaty chuckle rose from the wall of clothing that divided them.  “What's so funny?”

With his hands on his bare hips, Jaime glared down at the discarded pair of boxer-briefs on the floor and smiled. “You. I've heard you were uptight but I didn't expect you to be such a prude.”

Incredulous, Brienne eyes grew wide before she answered him with a bewildered snort. “ _Excuse me?_ ”

“You heard me.” Annoyed by his smug assessment, Brienne swung Jaime’s navy blue suit over the clothes rack in disgust and waited for him to get dressed. “You know, it's people like you that are what's wrong with this country.”

Jaime saw his costume swung over the clothes rack but chose to ignore it; instead, he stared down at his toned bicep in admiration while he began to flex it. “You can chop off the leading man’s head on TV...you can have zombies disembowel a beloved character during prime time, but gods forbid anyone sees a _naked person_ on film.”

Standing in front of a full length mirror, Jaime looked down at his nude form with a deep sense of pride and smiled. “I can't help but find the hypocrisy to be so ridiculous. How does that quote by Jack Nicholson go? ‘If you stroke a breast, the movie gets an R rating. If you hack a tit off with an axe, it’ll be PG.’”  

Brienne guffawed into a neatly tailored overcoat she steamed earlier that morning. Quickly winding her way back around the clothes rack, she threw icy daggers at Jaime’s reflection in the mirror. “Are you _seriously_ comparing yourself to Jack Nicholson right now?” He was oblivious to her presence; turning to his side, he watched the ropy muscles in his forearm dance under the lights.

Jaime finally noticed Brienne’s gaze in the long mirror just then; he watched her pretty eyes start to drift down past his navel. Savoring in his love of provoking her, he slowly turned around and took great esteem at the sight of his ass reflected in the mirror. He continued to speak while he slowly got dressed in his costume with a breezy sigh.

“These days it's all about explosions, car chases, sword fights and lense flares, but the moment someone films something that’s honest, _something natural_? Parents suddenly take up arms and morph into these self-righteous frigs. They’ll scream about the innocence of their precious, snot nosed children; meanwhile they’ll continue to buy them video games filled with sex and violence without so much as batting an eye. Cinema is a powerful, beautiful medium but it’s starting to lose its heart and soul to the highest bidder—it's slowly turning everything into blockbuster dreck whose sole purpose is to gratify the slack-jaw masses.”

Zipping up his pants with a small laugh, Jaime carefully buttoned up his dress shirt while throwing small glances at Brienne in the mirror. Noticing how much her eyes lingered over his bare chest, he took his time to appreciate the clean definition of his abs before fastening the last buttons. Brienne was convinced that if Jaime had been alone, he would’ve thrown a salacious wink to his own reflection in the mirror. When it came time, Brienne walked up behind him to help him into his fitted blue jacket. Trying hard to keep her cool, she swept at invisible lint on his shoulders before tugging on the sleeves of his dress shirt.

“This rhetoric; coming from _you_. The man who starred in that egregious waste of celluloid, _Machete Mayhem: Revenge of the Demented_.”  

That pointed slur pierced Jaime’s tender heart. Watching her fiddle with a pair of slick cufflinks, he felt his heart start to pound at the base of his throat. “You’re jealous.”

Brienne wanted to shiver once his eyes locked onto hers with a thin, charmless smile.

Rattled by his sudden change in mood, Brienne shot her eyes back down to his warm wrist and tried to fasten the heavy silver cufflinks to his dress shirt. “Jealous! Of you?   _Please…”_ Jaime started to clench his jaw with mounting anger; Brienne tried hard to pretend that she didn’t notice it. “And furthermore, that ‘dreck’ you starred in wasn’t even good.” Jaime’s eyes froze wide open in shock while the blood in his face started to drain away. “Maybe you were a good actor. _Once_. Or maybe people just love to overpraise a famous name.”

That did it; Brienne had finally crossed a line. He started to measure up his opponent with cold eyes and a mirthless grin. Dropping his voice down to a low growl, he happily began his attack on her with the first strike.

“No, you're jealous. That’s right; _jealous.”_ She refused to look up at him; instead, she felt Jaime’s eyes bore into the top of her head while she fastened his cufflinks with shaking fingers. “Jealous because in your bones you know that you’re someone who's always going to be standing ten feet from fame but will never have a taste of it.” Brienne had no choice but to roll her big eyes up at him. “Roll you eyes at me; I don’t care. It’s true. You have a face made for radio, a voice that’s perfect for a silent film; you have the shoulders of an ox, the slow blinking eyes of a cow and do you know what’s worse than all of that? _You’re boring_.” He shook his head in disgust while Brienne felt her thick lips start to part in hurt.

“You’re just like all the rest: just another boring, shallow, thoughtless critic whose scathing opinions are cheap and derivative, _at best._ You’re insecure, you have no spine and you're jealous of me because it’s people like you who’ll never know what it’s like to be comfortable in your own skin.” Once he said those lashing words, Brienne looked up just in time to see Jaime’s eyes glare at the hideous scar pitted on her cheek.

Stricken, Brienne choked on a soft gasp of pain that lanced her heart. Eventually, she found the words to finally strike back at him. “You don't know a thing about me—”

It was his turn for the counter strike. “I think I know a thing—” Little did he know, Jaime never had a chance against any of Brienne’s fierce, well-honed blows.

“No. You don't know who I am or what I’ve done just to be where I am today. Unlike _you,_ I had to fight like mad just to get my foot in the door. No one did me any favors. The only reason you landed the leading role for an acclaimed series is because your father owns the network.”

Jaime was silent; gaping at her flush red face he scrambled for a reply but he felt disarmed for every verbal swing that landed sharp and true on his heart. “Do you really think you’re someone special?  You're just like all the rest I’ve seen, day in, day out for _years_. You’re just another rude, self-entitled product of nepotism who thinks they’re enlightened only because you had the luxury of spending a year backpacking throughout Essos after graduation. And now? Now you think you’ve got the whole world figured out with your snotty lifestyle and your ridiculous wealth, but let me tell you something; you’ve got _nothing_ figured out. You’re just as confused and insecure as the rest of us. And do you know what's worse? You don’t even know who you really are: you’re just another plummy, egocentric, spoiled little brat who was born on third base and has the nerve to tell everyone that you’ve hit a homerun.”   

An eerie silence filled the room. Only the soft buzz of the fluorescent lights could be heard. Jaime Lannister, a handsome, untouchable actor who was dressed impeccably in a custom made suit, gaped at Brienne with a soft, devastated brutality. Instantly, she regretted every one of her slicing words.

Breaking the silence in the fitting room, a handheld radio crackled to life; a voice from the studio set called out to Brienne in the midst of their tense standoff.

_“ **We need Lannister on set in five**._ ”

“Here.” Brienne shoved a collegiate necktie into Jaime's lifeless hands; it was made of flawless silk with a yellow and brown stripe pattern on it. “I think you can manage this on your own.” Brienne had chosen that tie to bring out the sparkling green in Jaime’s eyes. Clearing her throat instantly became a struggle; Brienne didn't have the courage to make any eye contact with him. “I’ve suddenly remembered... _it’s my break_.”

With that, she walked out of the fitting room with slumped shoulders and a bowed head. Jaime was left all alone in the fitting room; his only companions were the buzz of the overhead lights and the crackling sounds coming from the handheld radio. There was a strange, dull ache that started to bind and coil inside of his chest.

“ ** _Brienne. Brienne? Do you copy_**?”

 

\---------------------

 

She was tempted to call in sick on Friday, but Brienne knew better; after all she was a professional; professionals never turn tail and run from an interoffice conflict.

Making the final alterations to Jaime’s blue suit, she rubbed at her dry eyes and wished her day was finally over with. With a waning lack of focus, Brienne grew irritated at herself when the silk thread snapped clean from her needle, leaving behind an impossible rat nest of thread that was hopelessly knotted together.

Rolling her head from side to side, Brienne twisted and turned her neck until the satisfying _pop_ and _crack_ of tense cartilage could be felt. Closing her eyes, she massaged one achy shoulder with a twisted arm before she turned her chair around to face the doorway.

In her entryway was Jaime Lannister, hangdog and hopeful. In his hand was a tall coffee cup from a bistro she’d often visit during her breaks.

“Hey.”

Nonplussed, Brienne lowered her arm and sat straight up.  “Uh... _hey_.”  Jaime raised the coffee cup in his hand with a halfhearted smile. Wondering what he was about to do, she watched him step into her private office with the steaming cup before gently setting it on her desk.  Hanging beneath the plastic lid was a paper tag attached to string.  It was her favorite brand of tea. “What’s this?” Jaime tried to find the words, instead he shrugged.  

Brienne lifted the coffee mug and delighted at the warmth radiating from the paper cup; in spite of the heatwave of the Westerlands, the air-conditioning was absolutely frigid in the wardrobe department. She hated to spoil his peace offering but Brienne was at a total loss of words.  “I only drink coffee.”  Jaime just shook his head ‘no’ with a brief sigh.

“You only drink coffee in the mornings, usually three cups—four when you didn’t get a good night's sleep. Cream, no sweetener.  By mid-afternoon, you like to take your tea with lemon after your department’s staff meetings. I’ve noticed you like to keep the teabag in the cup for as long as possible before you take your first sip.”  Brienne was dumbfounded. Jaime just watched her face with a quiet hope.     

“D—did you… Wanna grab a drink tonight?” Brienne paused at him with a startled look on her face; she looked as if though Jaime had suddenly pulled a gun on her. Desperate, Jaime took her startled face as a good sign; he saw it as his last chance to make amends with Brienne. _At least she’s willing to listen…_

“Just a drink. It’s not a—it’s nothing… Just... _no pressure.”_

A dozen questions cluttered and tangled inside of Brienne's mind. There was no reason for giving Jaime Lannister a second chance; he may have been a respected actor but he would never be entitled to Brienne's friendship. Although she was ashamed to admit it, she had been actively avoided Jaime since their fight on Tuesday.  Sending a courier over to him to try on new costumes instead of meeting with him in person, he had left terse remarks on his wardrobe via courier instead of phone call.  As lousy as she felt, Brienne was desperate to avoid Jaime for as long as possible. _Now I know why so many costume directors have walked from this show..._

Feeling an odd little knot start to bend and tighten at the pit of her stomach, Brienne rolled back her shoulders with confusion and sighed.

“Sure.”

The shade of a grin started to flicker on Jaime’s mouth.  With wide eyes and a small clearing of his throat, he looked as if though he were an amateur under the spotlight who forgot his next line.  Finally he stumbled out to her his unpolished response. “Good.  I’ll...uh, I’ll text you the place then?”  Brienne only nodded.

As she watched him walk out of her private office with a smothered grin, Brienne pulled the steaming takeout cup close in her hands and felt gobsmacked.  

_What in the seven hells just happened?_

 

 


	2. West Country Whipping Knot, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A showdown commences at Riverrun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Without further ado, part two of West Country Whipping Knot.

 

In her rearview mirror, Brienne blotted her red lipstick for the fourth time— _or was it the fifth_?  Fidgeting with the tiny sapphire studs in her ears, she checked the time on her phone before she stepped out of her car; she didn’t want to seem overeager in meeting him.  

He picked out a swank hotel for them to meet up at, the place was an old industry favorite called _Riverrun._ Making her way through the main lobby, Brienne’s eyes struggled to adjust under the dim atmosphere. She enjoyed the ambiance, with all of its Zen-like features. In the center of the stone floor there was a rushing water fixture made up of smooth, flat river stones stacked precariously on top of one another. The water feature was tucked inside of a small bamboo forest that was contained in several large stone planter pots.

Brienne couldn’t retain her awe for much longer; she was jarred by the swinging arms of an uncouth man who gracelessly collided into her. Knocking her off to the side, it was only then did the sleazy man noticed her presence; vaguely, he checked her out from behind his designer sunglasses while he continued his loud conversation over the phone. With an annoyed look on her face, Brienne glared at the man in anger while he made a filthy gesture at her with his tongue. On the back of his neck, Brienne could read a dark tattoo scrawled with the words “ _Brave Companions_ ” on it. From just that brief, startling encounter, Brienne felt like she needed to take a scalding hot bath and scrub her skin off.

_What am I even doing here?  The Westerlands is such a cultural desert. Maybe I should just move back to the east coast, be closer to Tarth..._

After a few turns down the glossy marble hallways, she walked past emaciated starlets who were surrounded by a gaggle of wannabes. At long last, Brienne finally located the lounge they’d agreed to meet in; it was a secluded yet beloved watering hole that was revered by studio executives called _Tully’s_.  It was a handsome bar furnished in mahogany with leaping trout carved onto its wooden panels; silky jazz music tinkled in the background while patrons hummed with buzz words and cheesy smiles while deals were being made and the promise of sex seemed to permeate the atmosphere. Young women slinked around with a hungry look in their jaded eyes while older men’s eyes lingered over their firm bodies and wondered who would become their next mistress.

Brienne was dressed nothing like the other women in the lounge. Most of the women there all wore a variation of the same bandage dress that was considered quite fashionable for the time; all of them tottered and skittered around in scaffold high heels and long, blown out hair.  Brienne grimaced; dressed only in designer jeans, a navy boat neck shirt and modest ballet flats, she felt underdressed and overwhelmed before she even sat down to meet up with Jaime.

Lannister was easy to spot; he was the only patron seated at the bar. Nursing a tumbler of whiskey, he wore a dark grey suit with a crisp white dress shirt underneath. Brienne swallowed hard once his nervous eyes found hers; Jaime wore no tie and the top three buttons of his dress shirt were left unbuttoned. It was Brienne's favorite look for him.

Taking her seat next to him at the bar with a nervous smile, Jaime flagged down the bartender with a wave so Brienne could order her drink. Hearing her request an Old Fashioned, he took another sip of his drink while suddenly feeling a need to sit up taller. Unbeknownst to her, Jaime was already working on his second drink for the night.

“You come here often?”

Jaime shrugged. “Meh. For interviews. Once did a photoshoot over there by that pool.” He gestured with his chin over towards a long, floor to ceiling window behind them; both glanced over at the glamorous swimming pool while Jaime continued. “It was staged with this vintage look for the cover of an editorial; very glitzy with this 1920's jazz vibe. The whole thing was preposterous: I had to pose with a sedated mountain lion on my lap while wearing a tux.”

Brienne smiled at the very thought of it; the idea of it just seemed so ridiculous. “Just another boring day at the office then?” Even with the all of the tension they shared in the quiet lounge, both managed to laugh in spite of themselves. Once Brienne received her drink in a sparkling tumbler, Jaime smiled as he turned back to his companion with a rueful chuckle. ”I’m telling you; this business…”

Brienne took a quick drink before she broke the dreaded ice between them. “So, did you choose this place to interview me? Or am I the one who's interviewing you?”

Jaime replied with a slow, nervous wince on his face. “I don't know. _Maybeee_..a little bit of both?”  Brienne glanced over at him with curiosity; she was resting her right elbow on top of the bar, propping her head up to listen to him better. Across from the bar, a long mirror was fixed to the wall behind the bartender’s station; briefly, Jaime’s eyes caught with Brienne’s in its smoky reflection.

“For interviews, I always sit in that dark booth over there. Usually the writer my publicist sends over is either some starry eyed ingénue, a hard boiled journalist who can see through the celebrity bullshit or some trust fund hipster who tries way too hard to pretend not to care when really, they do.”  Brienne let out a small laugh at Jaime’s confident yet jaded words.

“I bet you’ve got them all pegged, haven't you? The starving artists, the star fuckers; the bullshitters, the dark horses; the puppet masters, the phonies…” Jaime nodded his head with unfocused eyes while Brienne started to nibble on the orange slice garnishing her drink.

“Well, to a degree... _yeah_.  I think I’ve got a few things figured out.” With the tumbler close to his lips, Jaime completed his thought with a soft mutter into the echoed confines of his drink. “The one thing I haven’t figured out yet is _you_.” With that, Jaime took a deep swig.

“Me?” Brienne was surprised to hear that he gave any thought to her at all “What’s there to figure out? I hem costumes all day; I get to watch you strut around naked in my dressing room and then I hear lame jokes on how I need to let out the seams for your crotch.”

Undeterred, Jaime quietly insisted. “There are things to figure out about you.”

Brienne’s face started to fold with skepticism before she replied. “Like what?”

It suddenly turned very quiet in the dim lounge.

Without a word, Jaime’s nervous thumb began to strum the rim of his crystal tumbler like it was the strings to a glittering guitar. Brienne patiently waited for his answer while she drank; long, quiet moments passed while the echo of her question began to fade into a warm silence.

Brienne assumed that Jaime was probably making up some lame excuse about needing to leave soon. Instead of answering her question like he wanted, he shifted his weight awkwardly on the barstool while his heart started to race in his chest. Growing nervous, he felt his eyes grow wide and unblinking while he stared down at the bar counter with a lonesome look creeping over his face.

He suddenly lost the nerve to answer Brienne’s question honestly; instead, he switched topics while he began to wonder how it got so warm in the lounge all of a sudden. Finally, he took a risk.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Brienne paused; she was starting to feel a nice little buzz from her drink. To her surprise, she realized how comfortable it was for them to sit together in silence without having a need to fill it with empty chatter. Curious as to what he was about to say next, Brienne finally spoke.

“Sure; I'm game.”

Pale fingers tried to fish out the maraschino cherry at the bottom of her tumbler. Melting ice cubes clicked and rattled with a pretty _ding_ of crystal while Brienne waited for Jaime to speak. Slowly, she popped the sweet, candy-red morsel between her lips. Jaime began to stare at Brienne’s mouth; he told himself he was only trying to read the expression on her face. He had to try even harder not to stare at her full lips once Brienne started to tug and twist the cherry stem locked between her large teeth. The flash of her pink tongue swirling around the glossy red cherry filled his unblinking eyes with all sorts of unexpected questions. Behind her soft lips he watched the red cherry pop between her white incisors; a warm chill ran down the length of his spine.

All of a sudden Jaime hoped that he wouldn’t have to stand up anytime soon. Hunching his shoulders over the bar, he started to fidget with the coaster beneath his drink before he continued.

“I don't...I don't really have anyone to talk to.” Brienne suddenly stopped chewing.  “ _At work_.” Jaime continued in a low, thoughtful voice. “I pay close attention to the people that surround me, and...I’ve noticed you. You don't gossip behind people's backs—you're not two-faced or demeaning to the crew; you’re thoughtful and kind and you've somehow managed to put up with me in spite everything I’ve done. I guess, the more I’ve noticed that…” His gentle words started to fade. “ _You seem nice.”_

Brienne paused; she had been busy sucking the candy red syrup off of the cherry stem. “Are you trying to say that you _like me?_ ” Jaime didn’t have the courage to make eye contact with her. Amused, Brienne gently shook her head while the ghost of an intoxicated laugh filled her voice. “You sure picked a hell of a way of showing it.”

“Trust me when I say I already feel like a proper ass for all of the things I’ve done to you, OK?” At a loss for words, Jaime took a slow drink from his glass before he licked his lips and continued. “You know...I used to be a normal person before all of this happened.”

Holding the cherry stem between her fingers, Brienne thoughtfully nibbled on the stem between her teeth; confused, her eyes narrowed on Jaime for clarity. “Before _what_ happened?”

A terse laugh filled his chest; he gave a brief, dismissive wave over the room that surrounded them with a blatant roll of the eye. _“This_. All of this; fame, celebrity. It’s all just a pile of horseshit.” Resting the depleted cherry stem on her bar napkin, Brienne sighed while Jaime drank.

“So who were you before all of _this_ happened?”

Jaime smiled. He remembered a time when he was just a little boy; a silly, innocent kid who watched all of the plays in the theater district of the Stormlands growing up. He remembered watching Sir Arthur Dayne’s performance as Hamlet; he remembered the way his arms turned to gooseflesh at the moment his hero recited the play's most revered monologue like it was a silvery poem brought to life. He thought on a time when he believed that all of art was born of truth and shaped by integrity; he thought on a time when believed that praise and accolades should be earned rather than bought and paid for in smoke filled rooms. With an ache in his heart, Jaime looked down at his hands while he started to mumble to Brienne with his whispery confession.

“I was a stupid kid who had stupid dreams. I thought I was going to be an artist; go on stage, tell a story, collaborate and work together with interesting people. But as soon as I got what I wanted, the sooner I realized that my dream was nothing more than a joke.  And my father... My father is the greatest comedian of them all. He knew what this business was before I got involved, and now he toys with me like one of his props he tinkers with for his own amusement.” Jaime knocked back the rest of his drink with one bitter swallow. Looking down at her bar napkin, Brienne realized that she had tied a knot in the cherry stem while she listened to Jaime.

Brienne could hardly believe that someone like Jaime Lannister would ever share something so personal with her. As he swallowed his drink with a slight cringe of embarrassment, Brienne frowned while she tried to evaluate Jaime's predicament with clear, objective eyes.  

“Cursed with fortune. Damned by blessings. Encumbered by unwanted power. Your father might be part of the problem Jaime, but did you ever stop to think that you could be part of the solution?” Jaime face turned slack while Brienne’s careful words started to sink in. His eyes darted towards hers with a slow dawn of understanding. Brienne smiled just before she completed her thought.

“Even a pawn can check a king.”

A drunken flush began to crawl up Jaime’s bobbing throat; he felt a self-conscious wince try to reign in his mounting hopes. “I'm not that kind of man, Brienne. I'm not even the man my father wants me to be.”

“You're right.” Jaime's smile fell a little. “You're not that man. You're whatever man you _choose_ to be.” Eventually, Jaime’s ‘Lannister smirk’ started to come back to life. Brienne fiddled with the knotted cherry stem in her fingers with a slightly drunken fixation.

“Soooo, what _do_ you want?” Jaime looked perplexed by Brienne’s gentle question. “Because it sounds like fame and celebrity isn't cutting it for you.”

A heavy silence filled the space between them. Lifting his eyes up at the long mirror propped up behind the counter; Jaime stared at his tired face while he tried hard not to frown. _What do I want?_ He quickly dropped his eyes back down.

“I want to apologize.” His words were just a shade above a whisper.  “I’m sick of fighting. I want us to have a truce.”

Brienne felt stunned. Doubtful, she heard her voice drop down to a thoughtful lull once Jaime fell silent. With a delicate voice, she turned her eyes towards him and pointed out a delicate truth. “You need trust to have a truce.”

He couldn’t bring himself to look up at her.

“I trust you.”   

  
\--------------------

 

A cuddly chocolate lab named Meraxes burrowed its cold snout into Brienne’s hands.

The dog’s nut brown eyes stared up at her ruined face with a simple, harmless affection; Brienne laughed softly at the creature while she scratched behind its floppy ears; Meraxes’ thick tail wagged and thunked the eucalyptus rails of the balcony with a panted breath and a sweet joy. With a look of endearment, Brienne smiled at the loving dog while a question started to creep over her face. _Why can't love always be this simple..._

The deafening sound of the waves roared in Brienne’s ears. She, along with Meraxes, Renly and Loras were all seated outside on a long overhanging balcony. With sated appetites, all three enjoyed another glass of wine while servants cleared away their dirty plates from the table. Once Renly found out that Jaime took Brienne out for drinks, he invited her over to their home to hear all about it.

On a handsome wooden deck overlooking the waves of the turquoise sea, the delicate scent of jasmine filled Brienne’s nose while salted winds played with her sun bleached hair. She watched Renly refill her glass of wine with a drunken gloss in his eyes; Loras stared at their dinner guest with a look of engrossed, clinical detachment; he always loved to play armchair psychologist to his friends. Brienne’s strange appointment with Jaime at the _Riverrun_ hotel turned into a fascinating case study for him to delve into.

She of course didn't share any of the things that Jaime confessed to her; Brienne could never imagine betraying him after all the things he said to her. And to know that he trusted her, trusted her with some of his most private thoughts and feelings...there was no way either Renly or Loras would ever know what the two had discussed last night. Once she had finished her vague account of the meet up, Renly was smiling like a child with a poorly kept secret; Loras was eager to fill Brienne in on the reason why Jaime was so cruel to her.

“It’s just a classic case of displaced aggression. When a guy feels inadequate, he fears being rejected by the person he likes. Instead of learning how to confront those fears and tell them how they feel, they decide to act out and hurt the other person's feelings instead.”

Absorbing his conclusion with slow finality, Brienne’s halted sip of wine started to warm in her mouth before she swallowed it down in complete amazement. “That is...supremely _fucked up_.”

Renly tried to keep his balance once he slid back into his chair with a sloshing bottle of wine. Glancing over at Loras, he added to his husband's conclusion with a growing slur to his voice. “Men aren't as fortunate as women are, Brie. Guys have the same thoughts and feelings as women do but we’re never taught how to _deal_ with them. Because a lot of men get confused by all of their wants and desires, instead of reflecting on them, they just turn into these... _gaping dick holes_ and take out all of their frustrations on the person they have feelings for.”

A thunderbolt of suggestion rattled Brienne’s peace. “You’re not...you’re not really implying that Jaime _likes me_. Are you?”

Loras reached over the dinner table for the wine bottle to refill his glass. “I don't know; how would it make you feel if he did?”  Brienne failed to answer. Renly’s face turned beet red with laughter while Loras’ eyes stayed fixated on hers with a genuine curiosity.

“Come on, Brienne!” Renly cheered with laughter. “He’s Jaime _fucking_ Lannister. With a wink he can grab more ass than a toilet seat at the World Cup!”  Not convinced, Brienne sank back into the plush chair with a slight look of terror on her face. “That’s exactly it Renly. _It's ridiculous_ ; Jaime Lannister could have _anyone.._.” Brienne held up her fingers to count out all of the ways. “...younger, richer, shorter, prettier…” Renly waved a sloppy hand and dismissed Brienne’s argument while Loras spoke.

“Brienne, listen...once you’ve been around the block a few times, sooner or later you’ll come to realize that after a while, a piece of ass is only that: a piece of ass.” Loras's voice dropped low with a warm smile directed at his inebriated spouse. “Now, when you find someone who’s special? All that other stuff about money, age, looks or height? Means nothing.”

Renly parroted back his husband's words with a wobbly, intoxicated grin. “Means nothing.”

Brienne glanced down at the chocolate lab with a confused frown. She could feel a heavy shawl of doubt started to drape over her thick shoulders while the sun began to set on the waves of the cobalt, Sunset Sea. Meraxes looked back up at her again with anxious puppydog eyes; she wagged her beautiful, whiplash tail with a panting, slobbery smile. Brienne tried hard to smile back down on the loving creature in turn.

 

\---------------------

 

It was almost mid-morning; Jaime had slept in late again. Sitting up in bed with a cup of coffee rested on a folded knee, he looked down at his phone and reluctantly hit ‘send’.  An anxious knot started to tighten and burn beneath his ribs.

 

[Lannister] Hey.

[Brienne] Hey

[Lannister] ~~Just wanted to say thanks for teh~~

Jaime deleted the text. _No, that sounds lame._ He tried again.

[Lannister] ~~Are you busy? Wanna hang out toni~~

He deleted that text as well.

 

It was so strange; Jaime started to freeze up with nerves; he couldn’t think of anything he wanted to say. Lying in bed, scrolling through e-mails on her phone on her day off, Brienne stared down at her phone with a growing interest; she was starting to feel distracted by the typing icon that fluttered in Jaime’s message field. After a few minutes, he failed to respond.  

None of his replies sounded good enough for her.   _The fuck do I say?  Thanks?  Sounds so bloody stupid..._ Disgusted with his own indecisiveness he threw the phone down on his bed and tried to rub the exasperation from his eyes. _Why is this so hard?_ It shouldn’t have been that hard; Jaime knew exactly what he wanted to say, but for some reason...he started to panic.     

Five minutes passed; Brienne could no longer focus on her e-mails anymore. Annoyed, she looked down at her phone and sighed.     

 

[Brienne] Is this a butt dial?

A soft _‘ding’_ took Jaime by surprise.  Reading Brienne’s message instantly brought a smile to his self-critical face.  

[Lannister] As a self-appointed ass, I’m compelled to answer yes.

Brienne smirked. _This dork…_

Feeling relief swell in him, Jaime finally found the words to write. With a suddenly racing pulse he tapped out his next message to her with a nervous expression growing on his face.

[Lannister] Just wanted to say I’m really glad we met up the other night.

Brienne took a deep breath while Jaime hammered out another message to her.  

[Lannister] Not a lot of people are willing to give me a second chance, never mind listening to what I have to say.      

Brienne felt a small smile start to grow. With a buzzing of nerves rattling her stomach she bit her lower lip and tried hard to focus on his text with cool, platonic eyes.

[Brienne] No worries, I’m glad we met up too.     

Jaime smiled down at Brienne's reply on the phone. With a contented sigh and a big smile, he looked at the stunning view of the Westerland Hills from his bedroom window. The skyline was golden-pink and the air smelled fresh and clean with the scent of sea salt and honeysuckle. He suddenly felt like it was going to be a good day.

  
Later that night after her jog through the Oxcross Canyons, Brienne checked her phone to see if she’d missed any calls. To her surprise, she found a new text message from someone she didn't expect.

[Lannister] Gotta a favor to ask. Do you mind wearing this to work on Tuesday?

Attached to Jaime’s text was an image file. Dreading to see a lame picture of a busty model wearing trashy lingerie or a ‘sexy’ chamber maid costume, Brienne hit the link on her phone and waited. Once the file downloaded she stared down at the photo in abject horror.

It was a photo of her dressed up as an extra for a movie; it was for a picture called _War of the Ninepenny Kings._ Wearing a half laced bustier over a tattered, medieval dress, Brienne’s face beamed with a megawatt smile while she held two foaming tankards of ale in each hand.

Jaime’s phone started to ring.

“Hey Brie—”

“ _Where Did You Get That Photo?”_

_Ooooo, looks like I’ve hit a nerve there..._

Jaime mumbled out an excuse to his dinner companion before he stepped away to take his call in a secluded area in the crowded restaurant.

“—and a good evening to you too!”  Brienne was fuming; still panting, sweaty from her jog, she heard her voice start to rise up and seethe with anger. “ _Tell me._ How did you get that photo?”  

Trying hard to choke back on a laugh, Jaime lowered his head down and closed his eyes while a grin started to pull at his cheeks. He was tempted to tell her the truth about how he got that picture but thought against it. He didn’t feel like throwing his little brother under the bus just yet.

“Oh, a little bird showed it to me. I must confess, it’s a cute photo. Didn’t know you had a filmography attached to your studio file.” Brienne cringed. “I think I’ll have to download that movie tonight just to watch your riveting performance as _Tavern Wench # 2_.”

“ _Dontyoudare_!”  

Jaime couldn't help but laugh out loud then. Realizing how embarrassed she was, he figured it would be best not to admit that he’d already downloaded all of the films she was listed as an extra in.

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry for teasing you. I swear: I’ll never mention it again.”

Brienne’s hunched shoulders suddenly dropped down in surprised relief. Puzzled yet moved, she felt her face start to relax while a confused pout bloomed on her lips. “Oh! Well...thank you, Jaime.”

“It’s the least I can do to make amends.” Letting out a deep sigh, Brienne started to grin while Jaime started to blush without his knowing. With a warm smile in his voice, he wrapped up their conversation with a useless nod into his phone. “Get some rest, I’ll see you around the studio on Monday.”

Brienne unknowingly returned Jaime’s useless nod into her phone as well. Sinking her weight against the cool marble on her kitchen counter, Brienne stared out at the glittering skyline of the Westerlands Hills and smiled in relief. “Alright then; I’ll see you Monday Jaime.”

“Alright. Have a good night's sleep... _wench_.”

Dumbfounded, Brienne’s mouth fell wide open while Jaime’s line died with a soft _click_ in her ear.  Placing her phone down on the counter with a nervous glare at it, she slowly ambled over towards her bedroom to take a long, hot shower.

Something told Brienne that she was not going to sleep well that night; something quiet and fragile also told her that she was going to start looking forward to Tuesdays soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love these beautiful dorks so much...

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Next installment will be... I don't know when. But...soon-ish.  
> And by soon, I mean I have no idea. 
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Cheers!


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